


Weekend, interrupted

by Baroness_Blixen



Category: The X-Files
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-24
Updated: 2017-02-24
Packaged: 2018-09-26 15:29:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,587
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9908735
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Baroness_Blixen/pseuds/Baroness_Blixen
Summary: Scully plans on having a blissful weekend. Then Mulder happens.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Once again, these are prompt answers and I *might* continue this in the future.

Scully absent-mindedly chews on her lower lip; her eyes are glued to the screen, not blinking once. She doesn’t do this often; indulge in a silly romantic comedy on a Saturday night with a glass of wine and, if she feels really frisky, some Ben & Jerry’s. It’s one of the very rare occasions that she even finds herself at home on a weekend. She and Mulder wrapped their latest case on Thursday and while she wrote the report, Mulder desperately searched for some unexplained phenomenon that would save his weekend. Monster and aliens, however, seemed to be in need of a quiet weekend as well, and so he came up empty-handed. Not that Scully is complaining.

“ _Oh darling, do you have any idea, any idea at all how much I love you?_ ” Scully leans forward, nearer to the screen, as if that would transport her right into the scene unfolding in front of her eyes. She’s seen this movie a thousand times, yet she fears the heroine is going to make a different choice. Maybe this won’t end in a kiss. Perhaps there is no happily ever after. Her elbows dig into her thighs as finally the characters close in, their mouths coming closer, meeting almost, and she can feel it tingling in her toes, her fingers and her belly and they’re almost there and-

“Scully, are you in there?” Mulders voice tears through the fantasies. He knocks, frantically, and the moment is destroyed. She throws one last glance at the screen, but she’s missed it. The credits are rolling already, her lovers gone. Scully grunts, turns off the TV and opens the door to a confused Mulder.

“I thought you might not be home.” Scully was prepared to be angry with him; it’s late and he is, albeit unknowingly, crashing her solitary movie night. But all her complaints fly out the door when she sees his pale complexion, his glassy eyes.

“Mulder, what is the matter? Are you sick?” She ushers him in, not in the least concerned that she’s only wearing pajama pants and a rather revealing tank top.

“Uhm, I had a little, well, accident.” Scully immediately checks his head. Somehow he always ends up hurting his head. Her hands run through his hair, leaving it messy, but there’s not a scratch on him. Stepping back a bit she finally sees the strange way he’s holding his arm. Carefully, she touches him there and he winces.

“Mulder, what did you do?” She sighs seeing his swollen wrist.

“Just a little accident and it would have been fine, really,” he nods at her, or to himself, “but then I got dizzy and well, here I am.”

“You need to see a doctor.” Scully tells him, her fingers gently prodding his wrist.

“That’s why I’m here.” His grin is no more than a grimace. She can only guess in how much pain he is.

“Mulder, I don’t have x-ray vision, you know.”

“You don’t? And here I thought you were Supergirl.”

“I think you’re delusional. How did you even get here?” Scully leads him over to the couch. She sees him glance at the half finished ice cream and her glass of wine. He hesitates, uncertain suddenly, but she gently pushes him and he sits down.

“You didn’t drive, did you? Please tell me you didn’t drive.”

“I took a cab.” He tells her. He leans against the back of the couch, his eyes drifting close.

“Mulder, I’m gonna get dressed and then I’ll take you to the hospital. You’re scaring me.” Scully puts her hand on his forehead; despite his pale complexion he feels warm. Too warm.

“I like what you’re wearing,” he smirks with half open eyes, “Don’t change.”

“This is not exactly appropriate attire for the ER. I’ll be right back.” Scully cups his cheek briefly, feels his light stubble and fights the sudden urge to kiss him there. She sprints into her bedroom, exchanges her pajama pants for jeans and quickly puts on a t-shirt. She looks somewhat presentable, she decides, and returns to the living room. Mulder, of course, is asleep, his head slightly tilted, his lips lightly opened as if he fell asleep in the middle of a sentence. She hates waking him, but he needs to see a doctor and have his wrist examined; she fears it might be broken. Only Mulder would manage to hurt himself on their weekend off. Gently, she touches his cheek again - definitely too warm - and he opens his eyes.

“Come on, Mulder. You can sleep as soon as we have your wrist checked out.” She still has no idea what even happened. He owes her an explanation. Right now though, she just wants him to move and get going.

Mulder gets up, looking sluggish, and leaning against her.

“Scully?”

“Hm?”

“Can I stay here with you tonight?” The words surprise her and she almost lets go of him.

“Of course you can. But first we have to go to a hospital.” She feels him nod against her. Scully settles him against the wall once they reach the hallway so she can lock her door. As soon as she’s done, she sneaks her arm around his waist, holding him, leading him.

“Scully?” His voice tickles her ear; he’s just so close to her.

“When get back… can you put on that tank top again?”


	2. Chapter 2

They’re lucky, for once; the ER is mostly deserted. No other disoriented, disorganized agent in here with an unexplained injury. The nurse told her that a doctor would be with them in just a moment, but Mulder can’t keep his eyes open. His head keeps lolling about only to snap back as soon as it hits anything solid. Whether it’s her shoulder or the window in the car earlier.  
  
“Drunk, huh?” The doctor, a short blond female greets them with a sharp nod, snaps on her latex gloves and smiles at Scully. Who feels strangely protective of Mulder at that moment.

“Actually, no,” she answers not knowing if it’s the truth; for all she knows Mulder is drunk and has been ever since he showed up at her apartment earlier, “he hurt his wrist.” Mulder, like a lost puppy, offers his swollen wrist. The doctor grabs it and he winces.

“Yeah, we’ll x-ray it,” she says, “so what happened?”

“I had an accident,” Mulder’s words are slurred; Scully is certain that he did not sound like this earlier, “Just an accident.”

“Is it just your wrist? Did you hurt anyone else?” She turns to Scully, who shrugs. She doesn’t know anything and for the first time this night she thinks maybe she should have asked Mulder beforehand. This is not like her; she is unprepared in every sense of the word,

“No one else hurt,” he assures them, “no, wait!” Both women turn to him. Scully tries not to think about it. Maybe he got into a drunken fight. Or he hit someone with his car. There’s an endless string of possibilities running through her mind; this is Mulder after all.  

“My pride,” he grins, “I think I hurt my pride.” Scully feels her cheeks burn. She feels sorry for the poor doctor. But her pity is limited; at least doesn’t have to take Mulder home with her and nurse him back to health. That job lies with her and her alone.

“That's… it would really help, Mr.-” she checks the chart, “Mulder, if you could give us some information about what has happened. Is anyone else hurt? Another human being?” He shakes his head no, finally.

“I went running,” he quickly glances at Scully, before he looks at the ground, “and I took off my shoes in the bedroom. I always do. I took a – a shower. I forgot the shoes and well. My hand stopped the fall.”

“No alcohol was involved?”

“No,” Mulder sighs, “I took a couple of pills to make the pain go away.”

“What kind of pills?” Scully asks before the doctor can and earns a confused glare.

“She’s a medical doctor,” Mulder explains for her, grinning from ear to ear, “I thought it was Tylenol. I don’t think it really was Tylenol, though, Scully. I feel dizzy.”

“Come on, Mr. Mulder. We’ll just x-ray your wrist and then you can sleep it off.” He follows the doctor and a young nurse dutifully.

“I’m not drunk,” he tells them, “Scully, tell them I’m not drunk.”

“I hear you, Mr. Mulder. Given your current state, I think it would be a good idea if we kept you overnight.”

“I’ll take him home with me,” Scully interjects quickly and Mulder smirks, “and make sure he gets all the rest he needs. I am, like he said, a doctor myself.”

“All right,” the ER doctor is not convinced, but Scully couldn’t care less right now, “Now let’s get your wrist x-rayed.”

Scully watches them wander over and fights the need to follow. Mulder doesn’t need her to hold his hand. Their voices are fading as they slowly make their way down the hall; it’s quiet here this late and the white walls echo only Mulder’s voice, louder than usual. Or maybe she’s just so attuned to him that she can hear him amongst all the chaos in the world.

“Do you think I’m scared of a woman?” She hears him ask and she sees his face turn towards the tall nurse. “If you’re talking about my partner then you’re absolutely right. She shot me once, you know.” The words put a smile on her face and it’s the last thing she hears for a while; the nurse gently pushes Mulder into a room and closes the door.

When Mulder returns, finally, his wrist is in a bandage. Scully throws the magazine she’s been reading aside and quickly joins him.

“Just a torn ligament.” He answers her unasked question, grinning at her as if he won a prize.

“Mulder, it’s not funny.”

“I agree. It really hurts. I think the pills are starting to wear off again.”

“Here’s some ibuprofen you can take, Mr. Mulder.” The nurse hands him the pills and Scully takes them from him immediately. The nurse blushes.

“I’ll make sure he takes them.”

“Of course. I’ll finish the report.”

“Oh Mulder,” Scully sighs, gently examining his bandaged wrist, “come on, we’re going home.”

In her living room, Scully removes the melted Ben & Jerry’s container as Mulder, still wearing his jacket, examines the VHS box of Scully’s movie. He holds it up like a piece of toxic waste.

“Did you watch this?”

“We can’t all have your excellent taste in movies, Mulder.” She mocks him, making sure the molten ice cream doesn’t drip on her carpet. She throws the container away and stares at it longingly for a moment. This is definitely not how she imagined her quiet weekend at home.

“We can watch it,” Mulder almost yells, “I don’t mind, you know.”

“Mulder, you need to sleep. Whatever you took earlier, you should sleep it off.” Scully makes a mental note to check the pill bottle tomorrow when she takes Mulder to his own apartment. And then take it away from him.

“I’m not tired. I feel like I slept all day.” He doesn’t look like it, though, she thinks, biting her tongue.

“But Mulder,” Scully sighs; she doesn’t want to complain, she really doesn’t, but it’s late and he’s looking at her like that puppy again. Ready to be walked, ready to be entertained, “I’m tired.”

“Then go to sleep. I can,” Mulder looks around, “I’ll find something to do.”

“Mulder, please.” Scully begs of him. For a moment he remains still, but she can almost feel the wheels turning in his head – and she has a distinctive feeling she’s not going to like whatever he’s going to say next.

“How about we make a deal.” His lips curl upwards.

“What kind of deal?” Scully asks carefully.

“I think I remember you wearing a certain garment earlier. Or was I hallucinating?”

“Mulder, no.” The grin disappears and his lower lip comes forward just the tiniest bit in a sneaky pout. Scully can’t help but think that he knows much how that affects her. He must know.

“Then I’m not going to sleep.” He tells her decisively, turning away from her. She rolls her eyes; all she wants right now is to sleep and she knows it’s not going to happen if Mulder is out here, unobserved.

“Mulder,” she begins, but he refuses to look at her; just like a little child, “Are you sure that’s the decision you want to make?” He nods, playing with the lapels of his jacket. It completely slipped her mind to help him out of it.

“Mulder, look at me,” he doesn’t, “I have a deal for you.” His head snaps into her direction.

“Let me help you out of your jacket first.” Mulder lets her take it off for him. They manage to avoid coming into contact with his wrist. That’s something at least. Until she remembers that she’ll have to help him out of the rest of his clothes, too, in the near future.  

“What’s the deal?”

“Ask me again about the tank top,” he opens his mouth, “when you’re no longer high on drugs. Now come on, g-man. We need to get you into bed.” He mumbles something, but follows her obediently.

“What, Mulder?”

“I’m not high on drugs, Scully.” He mimics her.

“Of course not,” she not so gently shoves him into her bedroom and he sits on her bed, waiting, “We have no idea what you took, Mulder. So I’d rather wait for it to wear off.” For once he decides to remain silent. He lets her help him out of his pants; he’ll have to sleep in his boxers and t-shirt, Scully decides. Mulder watches her as she reaches for her pajama pants she threw on her bed earlier.

“I’ll be right back,” she tells him gently, “get under the covers.” She almost winces; she sounds like his mother and that’s not at all what she wants. As she enters the bathroom, she hears rustling and she sighs in relief. In the bathroom, she quickly puts on her pajama pants. For a moment she debates whether to leave the t-shirt on or not; it stays on, she decides, turns off the bathroom light and joins Mulder in the already dark bedroom.

“Scully?”

“Hm?”

“I’m sorry.”

“About what, Mulder?”

“Everything. I crashed your evening and I realize I – I probably should have called. And I didn’t mean to, with the tank top. I know I – just ignore me, Scully. You’re probably right and I’m high on drugs. Good night, Scully. Thank you for letting me stay here.” With a sigh, she grabs the hem of her shirt and takes it off. It lands with a soft thud on the floor somewhere.

“Scully?” She’s aware he can’t see her in the darkness.

“Shut up, Mulder,” Scully says, lying down next to him, “And sleep.”

He manages to stay quiet for a couple of minutes; long enough for Scully to almost fall asleep. Almost.

“Scully? Are you – I must be hallucinating, but… are you wearing the tank top?”

“Mulder, if you shut up now you’ll wake up to me wearing it in the morning.” Scully expects him to say something – anything – but he remains beautifully quiet. She doesn’t tell him that if he’s his normal, drug-free self tomorrow, she might even let him take it off.


End file.
